


Pressure Ridge

by Alitneroon



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Filling In the Gaps, First Time, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Alternating, the romance is so thick you could cut it with a knife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alitneroon/pseuds/Alitneroon
Summary: "Here, so far away from the world, it felt as though consequences didn’t exist. He’d already been through so much with the men, he almost imagined that they could know about this too and understand, that it wouldn’t matter. Despite everything, the bleakness of the landscape and the food that was slowly killing them, Francis managed to find a moment or two of happiness when he was with James."
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**James**

One could get used to the cold. It was the wind that cut like ice, through layers of clothing, creeping through the cracks in the windows and whistling like a wild thing. It was the wind that kept them locked in their ships, huddled in the dark, that froze every inch of exposed skin in moments. Now something out there was hunting them, lurking with claws as sharp as that wind, the horrible arctic made manifest. And Captain Crozier seemed unable to lead them against it.

The last time James had really spoken to Francis, he’d finally told James why he was here. James had long suspected Francis didn’t want to be here, but he’d thought it was because he regretted the decision once he arrived, or because he’d taken the assignment out of some false sense of duty to the arctic. Never had he suspected the depths of the problem – that Francis hadn’t truly made the decision for himself.

James stared across the arctic night to the glittering lights of Terror in the distance. Somewhere on that ship Francis was no doubt drinking up the last of his stash of whisky. The further he sunk into the bottle, the worse he got. James had even felt he was making some kind of progress with him before it progressed to this. Like he’d gotten past the ornery shell to something resembling a reasonable man. Now it was gone again, and James couldn’t tell if it was drowned forever in the whisky, or merely hiding.

The wind and cold weren’t so bad tonight that the walk would be dangerous, and so they were taking the chance they could. At the least, he needed to check in with others on Terror about provisions, and it was good for their crews to see them working together, or at least to appear so. Le Vesconte and two marines came up behind him. “Shall we go, Commander?” He asked.

James nodded. “The longer we stand out here, the colder we get. Lead the way.”

The ships no longer felt like ships, with how long they’d been walking between them instead of sailing. They were strange homes, but homes nonetheless. The ever-shifting landscape of the ice changed slowly enough that it was familiar to him even in the dark.

Le Vesconte came up next to him as they walked. "Sir, there's something you should know," He said.

"Yes? What is it?" James answered.

"It's your stores, sir – your personal stores. Sixteen bottles are missing. All whisky."

James immediately caught the meaning behind his words. He stopped. "No."

"I'm sorry. They disappeared sometime last week, around when Little was here."

On top of everything, Francis had told Little to steal whisky from James’ private stash. He could care less about the whisky. It was the principle of the thing, and it was a step too far. It wasn’t behavior befitting a captain, and James wasn’t about to enable him, or let the expedition fall apart because of it.

Francis seemed to be trying to talk to lady Silence when he burst in. James wished he’d done it weeks ago, like he’d urged. The expression on Francis’ face when he saw James was enough by itself, but the next words out of his mouth only stoked the rage that had built on the long walk over. “Oh, god. Get off my ship.”

All that rage needed an outlet. He could care less that he was interrupting. This had all gone far enough. He’d tried to be nice to Francis, to be indirect and kind and understanding in his urging to cut back on the drink. Perhaps he’d been too kind. Perhaps it was time for a rude awakening.

“What in God’s name is happening here?” He asked, incredulous. “Francis–”

“–Don’t ever call me Francis again. You’ll call me what I’m due to be called.” Francis growled.

That sent a wave of fresh rage rushing through James. They’d been on a first name basis for months. There was no reason for Francis to be mean and blunt now, but two could play at that game. “You stole sixteen bottles of spirits from my ship–”

“–I did no such thing–”

“–I don’t know what you’re due. I do know there hasn’t been a single meal that we’ve shared, a single conversation, when you weren’t morbing on about what you’re due.” Francis stood as James continued his tirade, and while he took a step back on instinct, he was determined to push this to whatever end. “What else do you require? Respect?” James scoffed. “Well earn it. Or are you determined to be the worst kind of first as well?”

For just a moment, James thought he might have won. That Francis was turning away in defeat, that he would admit his failure and this nightmare would be over. Then the punch came.

James lost several seconds between the fist connecting with his face and the pain. He wasn’t even surprised, and in the aftermath he knew he deserved it. As the room erupted into chaos he stayed out of the way and held his jaw, letting the others sort it out. He couldn’t suppress a small sense of victory, that he’d managed to get some real reaction from Francis that wasn’t indifference. Francis ordered them out, and James went easily, holding on to a kernel of hope but continuing to push the others to acknowledge the problem anyway.

He’d almost gotten there with Little when chaos erupted on deck. It interrupted whatever progress he might have made, and suddenly all thoughts of these problems were far from his mind, as the creature tore through the ship.

James had no fight left by the time Francis called them all to his cabin. The confrontation and the loss that followed were too much to deal with all at once. Despite all that, he could tell something had shifted in the long and terrifying night. There was a quietness about Francis that hadn’t been there before, as he called on Jopson to stay and said his piece. James supposed it was too much to hope for an apology, but he would take almost anything, at this point.

What did happen was the last thing he’d expected. As Francis tearfully and painfully told them what he planned to do, James felt something shift inside him. Suddenly the man in front of him was no longer his enemy. Those moments of friendship they’d shared before could be again, and Francis was worth that effort. Perhaps he was just too tired to care, but he no longer felt angry. Apprehensive, yes, especially to lead this expedition, but he no longer felt rage, only pity and sadness.

Without ceremony – only with a bone-deep exhaustion – Francis disappeared into his bunk.

**Francis**

“How have they been handling it, out there? Wondering where their captain went?” Francis asked.

“Most know better than to ask.”

“Most?”

“It’s commander Fitzjames, sir. He’s been inquiring after you. Wishes to know how you are doing.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That it is not his concern, and that he will see you when you are ready.”

Francis nodded, slowly. “Very good, Jopson.”

Jopson turned away, busying himself with something by the side of the room. Francis couldn’t see what from his position, head and shoulders propped up on pillows but the rest of him tucked neatly under the blankets. Instead he focused on the threads, shifting to try and get more comfortable, unsuccessfully. He was so terribly bored here. Though he still felt sickly nearly constantly, he had pushed through the fog enough to wish for something to occupy his mind.

Jopson made to leave, but Francis stopped him. “Wait.”

He turned back. “Yes, sir?”

“Tell commander Fitzjames he may come and see me. Today, tomorrow – so long as I am not actively putting the contents of my stomach on the floor.”

Jopson half-smiled at his tone. That was good, they needed what little, dark humor they could find in these times. “You’re certain, sir?”

“Yes. I’d like to do something that isn’t just sitting here. And as much as I enjoy your company, I am beginning to get a bit sick of it now.”

That nearly got a real laugh. “Very well, sir. I will let him know.”

It took several days for James to make an appearance. To his surprise, Francis found himself impatient for it. He hadn’t done right by James lately. He didn’t hate the man, not really, he just got on Francis’ nerves, and before he’d truly sunk to drunkenness he’d begun to trust him to a degree. He hadn’t done right by many of them.

A soft knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. “Captain? Commander Fitzjames is here,” Jopson said quietly.

“Send him in,” Francis replied weakly. It still made him feel sick to talk too much.

As James stepped into the room, Francis was suddenly aware of what a sweaty unwashed mess he must look. He’d never cared for appearances in the traditional sense, but there was a difference between having a new, shiny pair of boots and looking hale and healthy. Though, he supposed, James couldn’t possibly expect him to look healthy. He knew he wasn’t.

“Francis,” James said softly, as though he didn’t want to disturb the oppressive silence of the room. “May I sit?”

Francis nodded, and James pulled up a chair.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“How does it look?”

James nodded. “Stupid question.”

“It was.” Francis sat up further, ran a hand absentmindedly over his hair. “How are things out there?”

James shrugged. “It’s still cold and dark. We eat, we sleep, we try not to kill each other. Though I suppose we failed to set a good example in that regard.”

Francis laughed, and winced. “I apologize for that. I was far out of line. But when I drink like that, I’m not… I’m not me.”

“I know.” James sighed. “I admire you for admitting it. That’s not an easy thing to do. I had myself convinced that you would destroy the expedition if I didn’t put a stop to it, that you wouldn’t come around by yourself.”

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t yelled it at me.” Francis shook his head, gathered his energy before pushing forward. “I haven’t done right by you, James. By anyone on this crew, but especially you.”

James smiled softly, lay a hand over Francis’ own. “Apology accepted. But I think it’s best that we move on. I’d rather not dwell in the past, when the future has so many challenges.”

"Hm." Francis wasn't entirely satisfied by that, but it would have to do. He didn't have the energy to talk too much more. Besides, he'd done his job by apologizing. If James accepted it, than that was plenty – repairing their ability to work together was the point. He wasn't sure why there was still a gnawing dissatisfaction in the back of his mind. "Why did you want to see me, James?"

"I simply wanted to see how you were doing. Despite what you may have heard of my ambition, I have no desire to be the captain of this expedition."

Francis scoffed. "So purely practical, then," He teased.

James smiled. "Of course. Nothing personal about it," He said, though the hand still resting on Francis' suggested otherwise. "You did the right thing, Francis. I'm sorry you have to suffer for it."

Francis narrowed his eyes, surprised at such genuine empathy. He'd thought James a self-important, vain braggart for so long, it was hard to reconcile this new side of him. "Thank you for saying so."

"I mean it." He fell silent for a time, lost in thought. "We should have listened to you earlier."

Francis shook his head. "None of us could have known, not really. Who's to say I wouldn't make the same decision if I'd been in Sir John's shoes. In any case." He pulled his hand away to scratch at his cheek and sat up a little further. "Thank you for coming, but you can go now if you wish. Don't want to keep you."

"I'll stay a little while longer. Give Jopson a break from his fussing. Besides, you have several books I've been coveting for a while now, I might as well read them while you have no excuse as to why I can't."

Francis rolled his eyes. "You're welcome to borrow them anytime, James. Although I will be stealing yours as payment.”

"That's an arrangement I can agree to." James stood. "Would you like me to get you anything?"

"There's a biography on the table out there, if you wouldn't mind."

James nodded, left the room, and returned a moment later with two books. He passed one off to Francis wordlessly and settled into the chair.

Francis could not have said how long they sat there – time was strange in the winter, and more so stuck in this little room. They passed the time with the soft sound of pages flipping. James was a surprisingly fast reader, though Francis' slowness was likely partly due to the headache and exhaustion that still clutched at his brain. It was nice to have the company and not have to interact. It made him feel a bit more like a person – something that had been hard for the past week. He settled in and enjoyed it while it lasted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Francis**

The world smelled like smoke and burning flesh. The air was still, and with nothing else to cut through it on the ice the smell was overwhelming, settling awful and oppressive over the few who stayed to clean up the horrors that remained of their carnivale.

Francis struggled to keep his last meal down, but he needed to be here. The men needed to see their captain here, unflinching in the face of it. But now they were nearly done, and almost everyone had gone back to the ships. James still knelt over the bodies. Francis came over next to him. "James, go back. Others can do this."

"These men need names yet," He replied, the pain clear as day in his voice. He was determined to do this. Francis understood why; he knew the burden of command and the things it demanded of one's own conscience. He recognized that feeling in James now, and knew it was worthless to fight against, it would have to run its course.

Instead he returned to his own efforts. Eventually only he and James and Thomas remained. They'd cleaned up everything they could and the bodies had all been dragged back on sledges. What remained would become part of the ice, just like their ships.

Francis and Thomas walked silently together, following James. Thomas hopped along on his wooden leg with little difficulty, Francis noticed – though it was certainly still a tragedy, at least it seemed he was making it work. They made it back nearly to the ships when James stopped. He turned back. "Should we discuss what happens next, Francis?"

Francis sighed. As much as he wanted to suggest they rest first, the men would want answers sooner rather than later, and they should at least decide on what to say. There was something else, too, in the way James said it. He suspected he did not want to be alone right now, and Francis understood that as well. He nodded. "Shall I come to Erebus, or would you like to come to Terror?"

"Terror is quieter," James said. "Less questions."

"Very well." The three of them set off back to Terror. Thomas distracted the men when they entered and allowed them to sneak off into Francis' chambers.

Francis busied himself with getting out of his slops when they entered. James was still wearing the remnants of that ridiculous costume. He dropped the helmet on the bench and pulled off the armor and cape, tossing them aside with it in disgust, sat down hard and put his head in his hands.

Francis nearly reached for his decanter on instinct. He wished he could offer a drink to James, at least, but he'd had everything removed from his quarters. Without that to fall back on he was left not knowing what to do with himself. He turned one of the chairs around and sat on it instead, and tried to come up with the words to say to James.

"How do you do it, Francis?" James asked suddenly, without looking up. He sounded desperate. "How do you do it and not fall apart every day?"

There was no need for him to explain. James had seemed to be doing just fine with command when everything was going right, but things never went completely right. Yet some failures were far more catastrophic than others. This tragedy wasn't comparable to a disobedient sailor or a turn in the weather. Francis struggled to find the words. "I did fall apart, remember?"

James shook his head. "How does anyone do it?"

Francis sighed and crossed the room to sit beside him. "This was not your fault, James. Your reasoning behind this plan was sound, I understand why you did it, even if I may not have done the same. You could not have known what would happen."

"I know that," He said. "Why can I not feel it?"

"You feel responsible because you _are_ responsible. Not for what happened, but for the lives of the men on these ships." Tentatively, he put a hand on James' shoulder. "This has been a hard night for all of us, but you most of all. I don't know if it will help, but know that I understand why you feel this way."

James was crying, he realized suddenly, and trying to hide his face from Francis. After everything they’d been through lately, Francis didn’t see the point in pretending to be ok. There was no world where the things that had happened to them in the last few months would be ok. He spread his hand over James’ shoulder blades, rubbing gently between them, and sat with him as he gave into the grief.

Such things were different here than they were back home. He was glad to be rid of the stuffiness of society, to be able to look his fellow men in the eyes and speak plainly. Out here there was no one else to turn to – he was sure they all would have gone mad ages ago if it were not so. He understood James’ desire to look the part, put together and perfect, but they were long past that now.

It distracted him from his own anxieties to comfort James. There was a strange relief, as he distanced himself from the truth of the matter and all the problems yet to come – at least he wasn’t where James was now. It was no more James’ fault than his own for not recognizing that such feelings were growing amongst the crew, for withdrawing into drink, but he knew the darkness of the particular headspace James found himself in, and was glad that he was not there.

James stilled and wiped away the last of his tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s a hard thing.”

“We came here to make a plan. Let’s do so.” James sat up suddenly and walked to the table, looking down at the maps. "Let's do _something._ "

Francis reluctantly followed him to the table. He was exhausted too, and not sure he was up to this. "James, we'll have time enough to plan later. We need to decide what we're saying to the men first, and then we need to sleep. Let it be."

James shut his eyes and leaned on the table, clearly overwhelmed. "You're right, of course.” He sat again at the table. "Tell me what to say, then."

They sat together for only a few minutes longer. James at least looked a little calmer as he left. As for Francis, the horror seemed to hit him anew when James was gone, as the full weight of it finally sunk in.

**James**

They’d been at this for hours. They knew if they were to set out overland, they needed to be as prepared as possible. They’d gone over every route, all the provisions in detail, worked out the rationing to keep morale and strength up and still give them enough for the march. Yet still the math didn’t add up, and they kept at it in the hope that they could find anything to convince themselves this was possible.

James closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was so hard to tell in the dark, but he knew based on his watch and the tiredness in his bones that it was long past the middle of the night, long past time to be in bed. There was no way he was going back to Erebus tonight. He’d claim an empty bunk – they had far too many of those these days. He’d try not to think about who’d been in it last.

“Why are we bothering, Francis? I’m looking at this, and I can’t see a way out of here that doesn’t end in starvation.”

Francis laid down his pencil and looked up at James. “We’ll find game, or Netsilik. Our provisions aren’t the only thing out there. And you’d be amazed what people are capable of.”

James stared at him, searching his face for the assurance he heard in his voice, hoping to soak up some of it for himself. “I saw what they’re capable of, at Carnivale. Thomas warned me what they’re capable of – you know what he told me, you were there at fury beach. Forgive me if that doesn’t inspire confidence.”

Francis picked up his cup; only tea now. “You’ve never been on an arctic expedition before. I’ve seen worse than this, as has Thomas, and we’re both still here. We can make it out of this.”

“I was not ready for this,” James said, after a moment. “I thought it would be glorious. New and exciting. I told everyone I knew about how the aurora would dance overhead every night. Now when I see it, I just wish for the sun back.”

“This place wants us dead,” Francis repeated again, wistfully.

“I’m so sick of ice,” James said.

“You know the worst thing about this place?” Francis took a sip of his tea and looked away from James before whispering, “No women.”

Had it come from anyone else, had it been said any differently, James would have taken it as the usual boasting and blustering, as only about sex. But he too felt what he thought Francis was saying. To hold and be held, or even to feel free to look – it was something not missed until the very possibility was gone. Despite himself, James felt a rush of shame. To be a man such as he was, to admit it to himself, was a dangerous game. It made him nervous to even acknowledge the subject. To have to pretend that the fairer sex did anything for him. Out here there were no secret places where he could be free, no shadows to hide the truth in.

Francis put his tea down. “Though I know some of the men make do,” He mused. “Being a captain, I’m not sure that’s an option for me.”

James felt his breath catch in his throat. For a long moment silence fell over the room as Francis’ words hung in the air. He was still looking away. James hesitated, felt as though he were about to walk on thin, soft ice in the dark, like a single wrong step could send them both plummeting somewhere they couldn’t come back from. Yet he wanted. Desperately. He’d never even considered Francis that way until this moment – it was unthinkable, even if he’d wanted it, and so he refused to let it cross his mind. But in that moment the floodgates were opened, and as the possibility of touch sat before him he suddenly desired more than anything to see Francis divested of his many layers, laid bare beneath him, above him, with him. His throat went dry and he swallowed to try and clear it.

Francis turned his head and met James’ eyes. James didn’t miss the way they narrowed, startled, as they searched his face. His heartbeat quickened double as he realized how he must look, mouth slightly open, eyes blown wide. But Francis didn’t look away.

James whispered his next words slowly, stuttered, unable to completely meet Francis’ gaze. “We could… make do… if you’d like.”

The silence and the stillness were nearly overwhelming. When Francis moved, he stood from his chair, and the drag of the legs across the floor made James jump. He turned and walked to his bunk, and James felt his stomach drop, panic rising in his chest. He’d ruined his place on this expedition, and there was nowhere to go. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Francis stop at the door, and braced himself for the insult that was sure to come.

“Coming?” Francis said instead. He was staring at the floor, frowning, but was still waiting for James.

Hesitantly, James followed him across the room. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, leaving them close together in the dim lamplight.

“I don’t know–” Francis started.

James laid two fingers over his lips to silence him. Now that they were here, James felt it impossible to hold himself back. He stepped even closer and brought the lines of their bodies together, brought his lips to the shell of Francis’s ear. “Just let me,” He whispered, and bit down gently, listened to the breath rush out of Francis all at once.

After two long arctic winters, every touch was electric. James crowded him up against the wall and fumbled with their trousers, his hands tangling with Francis’ as they rushed to get them open and down. There was no question of taking their time, desperate as they were. Finally James let out a gasp as he felt Francis’ length slide against his own, and he wrapped a hand around them both. For a moment they paused. James breathed heavily into the side of Francis’ neck, pushing their cheeks together. Neither spoke as they started moving again.

James could feel Francis holding back, slow and hesitant in his movements, yet clearly receptive. Small groans and hitches of breath escaped, stifled. He was getting close, if the way he clutched at James’ hip and shoulder was any indication.

In the heat of the moment, as they tried to shift to a more comfortable stance, James slipped back and his eyes met Francis’. They were open and desperate, vulnerable, and the intensity knocked the breath from him. Unable to look away again, yet unable to stand it, he surged forward and kissed Francis instead.

“Oh, god,” Francis moaned into his mouth as his climax hit him suddenly. His knees buckled, and he leaned further against the wall to stay upright. James pulled him through it, and Francis kissed back, hard, as he recovered. James dropped their foreheads together as he chased his own release, ducking forward to catch his lips between breaths. He came with a low whine, clutching at the back of Francis’ neck with his other hand.

After a few moments he stepped back, weak, and sat down hard on the bed. He closed his eyes and caught his breath, until he felt Francis push a damp cloth into his hand. He took it gratefully and cleaned himself as best he could before tucking himself away and straightening his coat. Francis sat down next to him, already dressed but still breathing heavily.

“I needed that,” He murmured after a few moments.

“Mm,” James agreed. Tension settled back over the room. James wasn’t sure how to act now. Suddenly he felt as though a brush of contact would be too far, as though he wasn’t touching Francis in the most intimate of ways just minutes before.

“I don’t think I’ll be getting any more work done tonight.” Francis shifted uncomfortably. “It’s been long past time to sleep for a while.”

James nodded. He had been exhausted before, but now he felt drained in the best of ways. “I should find a bunk.”

“I believe the one three doors down the hall is empty,” Francis said.

James stood. He paused at the door and smiled gently. “Goodnight, Francis.”

“Goodnight. Sleep well,” Francis said.

James closed the door behind himself and stumbled out down the hall. No one else was awake at this hour. He found the bunk and pulled off his boots, curling up under the cold bedclothes with his coat still on, and quickly fell asleep.

***

The next morning’s breakfast was quite possibly the most uncomfortable affair he’d ever experienced. He couldn’t meet Francis’ eye, yet wanted nothing more. He tried his best not to let on about the awkwardness between them to the other officers. At the very least, he was glad it wasn’t unusual for him to have spent the night here. They had all left Francis and James in his cabin the evening before, they all expected him to be there late. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that each of them was examining his every move for hidden meaning, and one misstep could doom them both.

And Francis. Francis, damn him, looked positively radiant. Healthier than he had in ages. James could scarcely believe he had managed to do that to him. He felt satisfaction and shame in equal measure, warring within him to be correct, to feel what he should. He didn’t feel sated. Instead their encounter had only fanned the flames.

He too had slept better the night before than in months. Possibly years. Despite being curled on a cold, small bunk away from his own ship, he hadn’t woken once, and in the morning he’d actually felt rested. He wished he could chase that feeling further, but the opportunity he’d had last night was so rare. He didn’t think he could just come knocking at Francis’ door when he wanted. Besides, he’d be expected to go back to his own ship today, and after that who knew when he’d be on Terror again. The thought of going days without seeing Francis suddenly twisted his stomach when before last night he wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

“More coffee, sir?” Jopson asked softly at his side, pulling him out of his reverie. James nodded, and shifted to the side as he poured. He continued to push food around his plate, barely able to eat.

Finally the ordeal was over. James and Le Vesconte, who’d come along, rose to leave.

“Good to have your company as usual,” Francis said, and James shivered at the suggestion underneath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Francis**

Francis couldn’t stop thinking about James.

He wouldn’t have chosen his company. It was good to have in the dark of the arctic night, to have as close to an equal as he could, here. But he knew they wouldn’t have become so close elsewhere. It surprised him, then, that he trusted him so. It was vital to trust him, yet he knew he would even if it was not. James’ presence was a balm to his frayed nerves, and slowly, he’d become the man on this mission he was closest to, besides Thomas, and perhaps Jopson. Yet they did not share the burden of command. James knew that burden now, the way he so clearly had not before Sir John’s death. The closeness between them had grown so slowly, and then all at once. And now he couldn’t get the thought of touching him out of his head.

Francis was aware, as they all were, that these things happened on a ship. Yet he’d never allowed himself to indulge in it. The thought of Sophia had haunted him for years, and before that, it had simply seemed unthinkable. Being who he was had always brought a higher level of scrutiny; he’d had enough trouble getting to his position without a stain like that on his reputation. He’d tried not to let the idea cross his mind.

Yet here he was, not just having partook, but wishing desperately to partake again. He had not gotten it out of his system, as he’d hoped. Instead it had only increased his curiosity. And he wished to feel again the peace he’d felt for a few moments in James’ hands. He wished for that most of all. There was only one way to get it. Steeling himself, Francis knocked on James’ cabin door.

James answered within moments. He’d taken off his greatcoat and was wearing a sweater that clung to the bones of his hips in a way that made Francis swallow despite himself. “Ah, Francis. Do come in.” James walked across the room to the trays of cups. “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Francis said gratefully. The chill never truly left his bones now, but the walk had made him colder than usual. He took the offered cup in his hands. It was only lukewarm, but nearly burning to his stiff fingers. He sat.

James pulled out a chair beside him. “How goes it on Terror?” He asked.

“The bow’s stopped rising,” Francis answered nonchalantly. “One less thing to worry about for now, at least.”

“How are the preparations?”

“Going as expected,” Francis said. “We’ve packed about half. Most of the things we can, now, the things we won’t use before the journey. We’re just waiting.”

“It’s the same here. It’s making me nervous, if not the men too.” James fiddled with the edge of his sweater. “I don’t like feeling like I don’t have a purpose. Like I’m just killing time until something as difficult as this. There’s not much more I can do to get ready.”

“No, there’s not. It’ll come in time. Don’t let it bother you before it’s here,” Francis said. “We’ll be as ready as we ever could be. The real challenge will come – I’d rather not invite it in before its time. Let’s enjoy these last few weeks, yes?’

James smiled. “Yes. As much as we can.”

Francis bit his lip. He could feel them dancing around the issue. Francis had no practical reason to be here, and they both knew it. It was late enough that they were likely to be undisturbed, but early enough that it was a risk. Above all, it required Francis to broach the question. He’d barely felt able to speak before. Initiating it was easier than the first time, but still so difficult as to feel nearly impossible.

It was James, of course, who took the plunge in the end. “What brings you here tonight, Francis?” He asked. His voice was low and his intentions clear, conspiratorial, as though he didn’t want anyone to overhear despite the seeming innocence of the question.

As before, Francis couldn’t stand to be explicit. He stood slowly, walked to the door, and slid the latch shut He stepped back over to the table. “I can’t stop thinking about… a repeat performance.” He closed his eyes, sighed. “If you’re amenable.”

James smiled down at the floor, satisfied. He reached out for Francis’ hand and stood. Without a word, he walked them over to his bunk, not letting go.

James sat on the bunk and gestured for Francis to follow him. There wasn’t the urgency they’d had before. This was quieter. James slipped a hand in between his thighs, ran his fingers up the inside seam, leaned in to press a kiss to the base of his jaw. Francis let his eyes slip closed and leaned into the touch. He raised a hand to James’ hair and ran his fingers through it. It was softer than it had any right to be. The softest thing in the arctic circle.

“What do you want to do?” James whispered.

Francis opened his eyes and found, to his surprise, that he could meet James’ without flinching. “Anything,” He said. “I just… I just want to be touched.”

James brushed their lips together, then slid off the bed and knelt in front of Francis. He looked up to check that Francis was still ready, and then began to undo the buttons at the front of his trousers. There was still an undercurrent of danger here, but instead of making it feel quick and desperate, this time it only added to the intensity. Francis let out a breath as James pulled his cock out into the cold air of the room and, in one smooth movement, covered it in the heat of his mouth.

He dragged his fingers through that soft hair as James worked him over in earnest. He wasn’t desperate, but certainly wasn’t taking his time either, as Francis was quickly reduced to softly swearing, clutching the blankets with one hand and James’ head with the other. Cold fingers slipped in under his waistcoat and pulled at the soft skin at his hips. The shock of it broke his resolve to hold back, and he felt his climax wash over him with no time to warn James. He stifled a cry with his free hand, falling back against the wall.

James pulled off after a few moments and climbed back up onto the bed. He straddled Francis, who could feel his hardness pressed up against his middle, and held his head in place with both hands as he kissed him again.

Francis pushed back at his shoulders, turned them both so James was lying down on the bed. “My turn,” He whispered, and moved down until his face was buried in James’ thigh.

He wanted this, he could feel everywhere how much he wanted this, anticipation buzzing in his fingertips and lips. Yet he had not a clue what he was doing. With fumbling fingers he pulled James’ trousers down just far enough and wrapped them around his length. Even that was enough to make James arch off the bed ever so slightly. He slowly put his lips over the tip, felt the strange bitter taste hit his tongue. For half a moment he seemed to leave his body as he felt worry and shame hit him in the gut, as he wondered how he’d ended up here, and then he was drawn back in as James reached down to cup his cheek. Emboldened, he took James into his mouth as far as he could without gagging.

“Oh, Francis, that’s perfect,” He heard James whisper. Determined to keep going, he bobbed up and down until James was writhing underneath him, hooking a leg around him, his boot digging into Francis’ back. He lay a hand on his stomach as James finished, feeling it clench underneath him.

When the aftershocks subsided he crawled back up the bed and settled in next to James. He rested his head on his shoulder and relaxed as he felt James’ arm come up to cradle him. For a few minutes he could excuse it as exhaustion. It felt so good to be held again, he couldn’t bear to break away. James’ breathing was solid and steady beneath him. If he listened closely he could hear his heartbeat, quick and even and strong, still.

“I’ll give this as long as you want, Francis,” James said softly. He waited, but Francis didn’t know how to answer. “It only makes sense, doesn’t it. To meet your needs.”

“Maybe,” Francis replied. “Yes.”

Part of Francis’ mind was screaming at him. This was a far more dangerous step, he felt. Quick encounters in the night were one thing, but this kind of arrangement was something else entirely. But that small screaming seemed a fair trade in the place of the constant everyday turmoil that was calmed by James’ hand.

“Have you done this before?” Francis asked. He knew it was likely not the kind of question James wanted to answer, but he wanted to hear it. Though he also thought he knew the answer.

James paused. “Yes,” He whispered, so soft it might have been the wind. “I take it you have not.”

“No,” Francis confirmed. Neither pressed any further. They lay there for a few minutes more, until Francis had to move, his arm falling asleep beneath him. “I suppose I should go back to Terror,” He said. It was too early still to justify staying on Erebus.

“I suppose you should,” James sighed. He looked up at Francis like he wanted to kiss him, but that was just a step too far, for now. Instead he sat up to let Francis out of the far side of the bed. Francis ran fingers through his tangled hair to straighten it, and felt James tuck a strand behind his ear. He stood and James followed him into the main room, handed him his coat and straightened it in the back. He smoothed his hands down Francis’ arms. “Have an easy walk. I hope you don’t get too cold.”

Francis nodded. “Have a good night, James.”

**James**

James stood beside Francis on the bow of the ship, watching the men make their last preparations below. The two of them were allies now, partners in nearly every sense of the word. It had improved both their moods drastically – he knew the rest of the crew could see it, though he was sure they had no clue as to the reason why.

Since those first few times it had become a regular thing for them, stealing quiet moments after everyone else was in bed. The sleep lost over their late night encounters was more than made up for by how well they were sleeping. They’d slowly gotten more comfortable, till now all he had to do was give Francis a look for him to proclaim to the officers that they were done for the night, and ask James to stay for a word as a seeming afterthought.

James didn’t want to leave the ships. He knew they had to, that staying here meant a slow death, that despite the danger and the hardship leaving was their only chance of survival. He worried about the journey, of course. He worried about walking, and their food, and the men’s morale. There was another part of him, though, that worried even more about breaking the fragile peace he’d managed here. There would be far fewer opportunities for privacy in canvas tents on the open land. The routine they’d fallen into would no longer be there to fall back on.

Francis had surprised him when he’d showed up at his door the second time. He’d never expected him to take that leap. He was so happy he had. More than what he was getting from it, James had discovered there was joy in making Francis feel good, in making him feel at peace. He was so different now from the man he’d dreaded tolerating for the entire journey when they started. He felt a certain pride at having a hand in that, and in seeing a side of Francis he so rarely showed to anyone else. The side that was caring and strong and vulnerable.

These last moments couldn’t last forever. Before he knew it, Francis had to leave to finish things up below, and he had to do the same on Erebus. After that it was a flurry of activity to get the men in line, and then they took their first steps out onto the ice.

Progress was so slow going as to be frustrating. As the ships dwindled into the distance, James found himself wishing they would be gone already. It felt wrong to leave home behind and yet see it so close, he could almost believe they were going back and not away.

They could still see them at camp that night, could still see them when they found the remains of their rescue. The knowledge that it was not coming, that they had to make the entire journey on their own, seemed to pass through James without touching him. He had not enough feeling anymore to be capable of worrying. Instead he watched as Francis sat heavily on the ice, the burden of command so heavy on his shoulders. He wished to come up and embrace him, to push it away. Had it not been for the others he would have.

He looked out into the polar twilight, the barest flickers of aurora visible overhead. If this was to be their end, then so be it. He would find what comfort he could, he thought, looking at Francis.


	4. Chapter 4

**James**

They were walking back from leaving a message in the cairn when it occurred to James that this was the furthest he’d been from anyone else on the ships in years. There was no one else here, as far as the eye could see.

He felt calm as he told Francis of his exploits in Asia. The kind of calm that comes from resignation of any real hope. He smiled as he watched Francis listening, his face open and kind. “I was quick to want the world rid of its fools an hour ago,” He said. “I forget sometimes how much an exemplar I am among them.”

“That’s not how I see you,” Francis said. He stopped walking, and James turned to him.

The statement was so simple, so unconditional, that it triggered a rush of shame and sadness in James. There was no world where he deserved that kind of forgiveness. It wasn’t fair for Francis to believe such a lie about him. He deserved to know, to be able to judge the truth of him. James could deceive no longer. So he began to explain.

Francis watched him closely as he told the story. The scandal, the happenstance, all of it. Though he left out the nature of the incident – that much he still found hard to say, even now, standing in front of a man who he had lain with for weeks. But the fact that he was not here by virtue of any personal quality, that he did not deserve this position, he told, until it was done.

“That only makes you a man,” Francis said.

“Does it?”

“What you describe is a surplus of political luck, hm?” He put a hand on James’ arm. “Not a dearth of courage.”

As he walked away, James stayed standing. Francis hadn’t understood. There was so much more, so much wrong with his story. So it would be all of it, then. “I’m a fake, brother.”

Francis still insisted on being kind. Not just kind, but showering him with adulation from some deep well James couldn’t understand or see the source of. _My acts of valor_. _Precisely which acts would those be?_ He thought, but couldn’t say.

“Francis. A man like me… will do amazing things to be seen.”

He started at the beginning, and watched as the shock finally showed itself on Francis’ face. This would ruin whatever he had built between them, that much he was certain of, yet somehow he couldn’t stop speaking. The truth came tumbling out like so many marbles slipping through his fingers, his tight grip on it finally lost. He paused, and waited for a dismissal that never came.

“I didn’t know any of that,” Francis said simply.

“I’ve never said it out loud before now.” He walked to catch up with Francis. He hadn’t rejected James yet, but he hadn’t gotten to the crux of the problem. As he explained he could feel it all, the shame and the inadequacy. Francis stood in judgement of him now as he stripped away the layers of artifice and let whatever emptiness lay beneath be seen. Yet as he said the words he felt lighter, somehow. “All those stories you would have my biographer tally up as courage… It’s all vanity. Always has been. And we are at the end of vanity,” He finished, voice breaking.

Against all odds, Francis did not waver. He put his stick in the ground and grasped James by the shoulders, and his face was still serious, but open, and warm. “Then you are free. Hm?” James felt something break inside him, a tension he hadn’t known he was holding; relief washed through his body. “Mine your courage from a different lode now. Friendship. Brotherhood.”

“Are we brothers, Francis?” He searched Francis’ eyes and found only love there, but he still needed to hear it. “I would like that very much.”

Francis grabbed for his hand, pulled him close. He nodded, and there was no question about it. James let out a breath, felt a tear fall from his eye. Francis’ grip was strong and steady. After far too long and too short a moment he released James and turned away.

They walked in silence for a time, James’ thoughts running wild. He had long known that he did not feel for women the way he was told he should, but he’d thought he was simply incapable of that feeling. _Love._ The shape of the word seemed strange in his thoughts. Yet now he wondered if there was any other word for the full body rush he felt when Francis touched him, and this quiet settled comfort.

He’d thought he’d felt it once before, when he was barely old enough to be at sea. In the years after he’d dismissed it as the foolishness of youth. He’d heard that kind of love was possible between men, but hadn’t quite believed it. That paled in comparison to what he felt now, yet he recognized its shadow in this. In one breath he reveled in it and in the next he shrank in fear of it, terrified by what it might mean. He doubted Francis felt the same way about him. For all their late night dalliances, he could not see Francis wanting to wake up next to him, or having any interest in him if they were ever to make it back to London. Certainly the moment he saw Miss Cracroft again he would leave James behind for his real love.

Yet now he was here beside James, miles from camp and any other living thing. If he let himself, he could almost believe they were the only two people alive in the world. He clung to that feeling as the complications of the camp and the men grew nearer, and found himself wishing this walk would last forever. This thing that had grown between them was like a great pressure ridge on the ice, inevitable, undeniable, impassible. And James could not see what might lie on the other side.

***

Practicality had driven them into a single tent for the sake of weight. The last few days had been more of an ordeal than any of them could have anticipated. The mutiny and the attack by the creature, all at once, had broken their foundations and undermined all their careful plans. They kept on, of course, there was nothing else to do. But they all were shaken by it.

James lay in his sack on the opposite side of the tent from Francis, on the cold hard ground. Cots were far too heavy, they had been the first to go. He shivered, turned over and tried to find a comfortable position. Finally he sat up, defeated. “Francis?” He whispered quietly.

“Yes?” A sleep-roughened voice answered.

James sighed in relief. If he had to lay awake worrying, at least he wouldn’t be alone. “How on earth do you sleep on this godforsaken, awful ground?”

Francis gave a halfhearted chuckle in the dark. “I don’t.”

James gave up, kicked out of his sack despite the chill. He crawled across the pitch-dark tent until he found Francis. “Move over. At least we can be warm.”

After a moment’s hesitation Francis shifted and held open the side of the bag. James crawled inside slowly. It was just too tight for two, but he wasn’t about to give up now. Francis tried to move and kicked him in the shin, and James swore. “Sorry,” He whispered.

“Hm.” Finally James found a spot that worked. He lay against Francis’ back, and carefully slung an arm over his middle. “That’s better.”

“You’re cold, James,” Francis said, annoyed, but his voice had an edge of concern.

“You’re warm enough for two.”

“Hrmph.” Francis lay still for a long while, his breathing steady and deep. James almost thought he might be asleep already, and then he shifted. He raised his hand and laced his fingers with James’. After a moment James felt him rub his thumb gently over his hand. “Thank you. This is better,” He murmured.

James pressed a kiss to the back of his neck in response. Francis hummed. They had not had the time or energy to be together since they’d left, and James missed it desperately, but this would have to do for now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Francis**

Francis felt sick as he watched James breathe harshly, staring up at him with desperation. “Help me, Francis,” He managed. “I can’t stand it.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do for him?” Francis held his hand tight.

“I can give him something to sleep, sir, but beyond that we will have to wait and see. If he rests, perhaps he will improve,” Bridgens said.

“Do you want to sleep, James?” James nodded weakly. Francis brushed his hair back out of his face, and shivered as he pulled several strands away on his fingers. Even his once feather-soft hair had turned brittle and dry. Absurdly, Francis found himself mourning it.

Bridgens reached across the table and picked up a vial. “This will help. He may not be able to swallow it lying down. You know how to help him swallow?”

Francis nodded. He’d seen this done this before, on his last expedition.

“I’ll leave you then.” Bridgens held James’ other hand for a moment. “Rest well. I will pray that you feel better in the morning.”

Bridgens disappeared from the tent. Francis held the vial tight and smiled as much as he could manage. The look on James’ face was heartbreaking. He felt it deep down in his chest, trying to push down the panic. As long as James was looking at him, at least he knew they had a few moments more. There was a chance the night would end and James would be gone with it. Yet he could not stand to see James suffer any longer.

With care, he brought the bottle up to James’ lips. He looked up at the roof of the tent, unfocused, as Francis poured just a touch into his mouth and set the bottle down. He pulled gently at his throat and watched as James slowly closed his eyes, sinking into sleep.

Francis kept his hand on the side of James’ neck, just under his chin, where he could feel his heartbeat. It was weak and fluttering, but still there. He pulled his hand away, gently ran his fingers over James’ chest before taking his hand again. Following some impulse he picked it up and kissed gently along his knuckles, then raised the dry, cracked skin to rest against his cheek.

“Stay strong, James,” He whispered. “You will get better. I know you will.” He had heard that the sick could sometimes understand things said to them even when they seemed to be unconscious, and hoped it might help.

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing James. He knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. He’d barely been sleeping anyway, one night would make no difference, and he would not leave James’ side now. He had come to mean so much to Francis so quickly. He marveled at it, and could not quite fathom how it had come to be. He’d never really hated James, but he certainly hadn’t liked him when they first came on board the ships – even for the first year. He’d only just begun to call him a real friend when they’d been together the first time. Then, it had only been the release of a need that had been building in him since the moment they left London, and he’d never expected it to be more. He’d shocked himself by needing it, and even more by pursuing it, yet he wouldn’t have given it up for the world.

James was more to him than a roll in the sheets. He’d known it for a long time now, but never had the bravery to put words to it. Now, with James just clinging to life in front of him, it felt foolish and impossible to call it anything else. James was his lover, with everything that word meant. His closest companion. The truth of it took his breath away. To finally have something that had tempted him his whole life meant more than he could ever say.

Here, so far away from the world, it felt as though consequences didn’t exist. He’d already been through so much with the men, he almost imagined that they could know about this too and understand, that it wouldn’t matter. Despite everything, their terrible situation and the bleakness of the landscape and the food that was slowly killing them, Francis managed to find a moment or two of happiness when he was with James.

Yet this cruel and terrible land might take it from him yet. His mind rejected the thought of James’ death, but if they did not find rescue soon, they would all be left rotting in the sun. He clung to James’ hand like it might save them, and settled himself in to watch through the night.

***

He must have nodded off from sheer exhaustion. Francis was awoken suddenly by Bridgens entering the tent. “How is he?” He asked.

Francis shook his head. “Still sleeping. Still breathing.”

“The last watch claim to have seen men walking in the distance, sir. Too far to tell if they are the mutineers or eskimo. You should come to the command tent, Little was asking after you.”

Francis felt a tiny pang of hope in his chest, though he could not let it grow just yet. “Will you watch him?”

“Of course, Sir,” Bridgens said. “He will make it a few more hours, that I can say.”

Francis squeezed James’ hand and waited a few moments, hoping to feel a squeeze back, but there was nothing. He took a deep breath and stood. His legs were stiff from sitting for so long. It only worsened his worry to leave James, though he knew it would make no difference in the end.

The outside air was freezing and the light blinding as he stepped out of the tent. He made his way to where the officers, or what was left of them, were meeting. He pushed inside and found only Little and Jopson sitting there.

“Have you heard?” Little asked. “About the men who were spotted?”

Francis nodded. “Bridgens told me. Someone should go, try and get help, find out who they are.”

“Blanky can’t walk far, or fast. You’re the only one left who speaks their language. I see no option other than for you to go, though I would not want to lose you here.”

Francis nodded. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave now, but they were right. This was the only way. “I’ll bring one other with me. Someone who’s a good shot. Just in case.” He stood, too tired to discuss anything at length. “If I don’t return by tomorrow evening, you should move on. Keep going south. I’ll find you if I can.”

Little nodded, reluctantly. “Good luck, captain.”

Francis left without ceremony. He found private Norris, a marine, and they left the camp. He couldn’t quite believe that this was worth getting his hopes up for, yet, believed that they would likely find nothing but empty ground. He would never show that hopelessness to the men, but with James lying in a bed barely alive, it was hard to feel any real hope.

They made their way slowly across the hills. It was a two mile walk already to the place where the scouts had seen the men, and then certainly beyond that on their trail. Even if they were out here – and Francis knew they were, just not that they were close – it would be a needle in a haystack, especially to locate men who were so skilled at moving through this land, not leaving a trace behind them.

They walked in silence. It seemed to Francis that there was a growing black pit in his chest, a horrible dread gnawing at his stomach. He felt it like ice, freezing him from the inside out. He did not have the energy to be truly anxious; anxiety was a heightened state. This was worse. This was an infection of sadness and desperation, one that he did not know could be cured with one of the many vials in Bridgens’ tent. Perhaps Goodsir might have had a chance. Perhaps if Goodsir was still with them it might not have grown at all.

They made it to where the men had been, and then past, and then, suddenly, he saw it. Movement, far in the distance. He dug out his spyglass with shaking fingers. Sure enough, slowly climbing a ridge in the far distance was someone dressed in furs and dragging a sledge. Certainly not the mutineers then. Natives, at home here, who might help them. In a rush he felt resolve coming back, spurred on by the thought of James sleeping fitfully, by the minutes that might make all the difference. He’d need to come back with help today, in the next few hours. He might not last longer than that, Francis knew; it hit him suddenly now that the solution was in front of him.

“Is it them, sir?” Norris asked.

“Netsilik. Come on, Norris, let’s catch them.”

They rushed the rest of the way across the valley, and Francis nearly cried in relief as the band stopped at the top of a ridge and turned to look. He waved his arms, broke into a run, as fast as he could manage. Norris fell behind, but Francis could not have stopped in that moment for anything.

He came close, finally. Close enough to see their faces, and then close enough to hear. He doubled over to catch his breath, heard shouts of concern. Even hearing their language was a chorus of hope. “Help,” He finally managed. “We need help.”

As they settled down, they sat with the men for a minute. Francis was offered seal, and he nearly cried at the taste of the real, fresh food, absent of that cold metal taste of the cans. In between bites he managed to communicate how dire their situation was. They offered to help immediately, as he’d hoped for but hadn’t dared expect. With new urgency he led them back in the direction of the boats. Three came with them with nearly all their supplies, while the other two went to their camp, to bring more, whatever they could spare.

He saw the tents appear and heard distant voices calling out. This was it, he realized suddenly, this was their rescue. It could still go wrong, but he dared to hope again that they might really make it in the end. There was a way out.

They were greeted by chaos as shouts of celebration and confusion rang out across the camp. Everyone who could still walk emerged from their tents to see the men, gathered round to see what they might bring. They all seemed to want to get as close as possible to the food. Francis was focused on only one thing. “We have many sick men,” He said to the leader of the group. “They should be fed first. They need fruit.” He did not know the Inuktitut word for scurvy, if there was one, but hoped that was enough to get his point across, and that these men had brought berries with them. He knew they could be found, though they were rare.

The man nodded, and followed Francis towards James’ tent. There were other men, but all who had been so sick as James was were already gone. The rest could wait a few more minutes. He already worried that something had happened while he was gone.

Bridgens was still at James’ side when they entered. “How is he?” Francis asked desperately. “They’re here. The rescue,” He finished, voice breaking as he went to sit by James.

“The sleeping drops wore off. He woke twice, and asked for you. He’s sleeping again now, but in and out.” Bridgens smiled weakly, wary of the Inuktitut man, but clearly feeling the same relief they all felt.

Francis took James’ hand again. “Do you hear that, James? We found them. You’re going to be alright now.”

James stirred. He opened his eyes and blinked up at Francis, looked over his shoulder at the stranger, but seemed uncomprehending.

Francis held his breath and looked back. “Can you help him?” He asked.

“Yes. He should eat this,” The man said, and dug in the bag in his hands. He produced a small pouch.

Francis opened it and found tiny red berries inside. He felt reduced to this moment, unable to look away. Such a small thing, and it might save so many lives. More than any, it might keep James alive long enough to get home. Long enough to speak to him again, to hold him again. His life was not yet over thanks to this. “Thank you,” Francis whispered. “Thank you.”

He turned to James. “Can he eat?” He asked Bridgens.

“If he wakes up fully, maybe. We can try. If not, we can make a tea.”

Francis nodded. He put a hand on James’ shoulder and shook him ever so gently. “Can you sit up a little, James?” He asked, and pulled a pillow off the bed behind him.

James nodded weakly and pushed himself up just enough for Francis to get it behind him, though he still did not seem to understand.

Francis poured a few of the berries out into his hand. He wished to preserve some of James’ dignity if he could, but wasn’t sure he could do this himself. He pressed one into James’ palm. “Can you eat?”

That seemed to finally break through to him, and as he looked down at the shiny red pearl in his palm Francis seemed to see the slightest flicker of a smile cross his face. He brought it to his lips and grimaced at the bitterness as he bit down, chewed slowly.

Bridgens left the tent with the Netsilik man to tend to the rest of the sick. One by one, James ate a good handful of the berries with Francis’ help. When he was done he laid back and held his hand out, palm open. It took Francis a moment to catch his meaning, and then he reached down and laced his fingers with James’.

Francis bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I was so worried about you,” He murmured. “God, James, so worried I could think of nothing else. You will be alright now, yes? We will get home.” He said it with a conviction he’d faked but hadn’t truly felt in weeks. Now there was a whisper of that again.

James nodded. He closed his eyes, but this time he seemed peaceful. Francis felt it too, settling over the tent and the camp outside. The relief was palpable. They knew that this was what they’d needed, that this was the only thing that could have saved them and they had it. He could admit that now. If they hadn’t found them, it was almost certain that they wouldn’t have made it.

With a sudden stab of guilt and sadness he realized that they would never have managed with their full numbers. If it wasn’t for the deaths and the mutineers there wouldn’t be nearly enough food to go around, and instead of saving them it would only have extended their suffering a few more weeks. There were so few of them left now that they might actually be able to survive off the land, with the natives’ help. Then they only hand to push a little further south to a place with ample resources to overwinter, and if they could hunt, they could make it to Great Slave Lake and a true rescue.

He couldn’t even quite imagine London now. It had been so long. It seemed a place more foreign than where they found themselves. He’d known this feeling on previous expeditions, but never quite so strongly. He knew from experience how strange and unfamiliar it would be if they ever made it back. Yet he didn’t think he would ever return to the Arctic, not after this. He couldn’t stand it.

He wondered, also, about the creature. They hadn’t seen a trace of it in the last week or more. He hesitated to hope that it was really gone, but at the least it felt like they could breathe. Of course, they’d thought the same when Blanky drove it off until it had come back again so dramatically.

James squeezed at his hand in his sleep as though he could sense the tumultuousness of Francis’ thoughts. It pulled him out of his head and into the moment. Right now, James was here and already seemed to be breathing steadier. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Even now James was beautiful. And he was going to live.


	6. Chapter 6

**James**

James was woken from a light doze by the flash of bright light of someone entering the tent. He blinked and smiled as Francis came into view and settled at his side yet again. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

He could feel strength coming back into his body quickly. With every day he felt less brittle, and the pain had begun to subside with the proper food. He might have preferred to eat something other than raw seal, but after the cans it was a veritable feast. “Better,” James replied. “Better by the hour.”

“Wonderful.” Francis put a hand on his arm. “You look better.”

“I would hope so. It would be a shame to waste this face.” He said it to provoke a reaction from Francis and laughed to himself as Francis rolled his eyes and grinned. Francis came to his tent at least three times a day, almost always more, despite his duties. There were others who came to check on him, but these were the moments he looked forward to most, even when they did nothing but sit. Even when he could barely tell what was going on around him he remembered hearing just how distressed Francis had been. It saddened him how he’d made Francis feel, yet it filled him with love to know how much he’d been cared for. It made him feel lighter, now, to see him smile again.

Francis grew suddenly serious. He looked around, as though checking that they were alone, though he knew there was no one else in the tent. “James, I… I need you to understand something. Something I didn’t realize until I thought I might lose you, and I wouldn’t make that mistake again.”

James held his breath, his heart beating faster. He could feel the tension hanging between them in the air. “What is it, Francis?”

Francis sighed and seemed to curl in on himself. “Promise not to push me away,” He said.

“Francis. Look at me,” James said. He put a hand under his chin and tipped it up. “I won’t. I never could.”

Francis smiled. “I… care for you, James. More than I knew. I… I don’t know how to say this, exactly. I don’t have the words. But when you were lying there… it felt as though my whole world was splitting apart. I’m not sure when it happened, but I don’t think I could bear to be without you now.”

He stopped, and met James’ eyes, waiting. He seemed to expect rejection, or at least not understanding. But James felt his heart soar. This was all he wanted, and more than he had ever dared hope for. “I feel the same,” He said, and found that his voice broke.

“You do?” Francis asked. His tone and his posture seemed as though he hung everything on this moment.

“Of course I do. Francis, I–” James paused to gather his thoughts. He hadn’t expected this, but he was prepared to admit it, and he wanted Francis to really understand what he meant. “You know me better than anyone ever has, and you've accepted it. That means more to me than you will ever know.”

Francis smiled sadly, reached out for his hand and squeezed it. "I know it a little," he said.

James found himself overwhelmed, after everything that had happened, and took in a deep, shaky breath. "Thank you for coming to see me. Now and every other time. I look forward to it every day."

"I hope you'll soon be able to come and see me yourself," Francis said.

"God willing. I can feel the strength coming back into my limbs now, and the scars are starting to heal, though they hurt still." To demonstrate, he reached for the table and picked up a book, something that would have made his arms shake mere days before. "Bridgens brought me some things to read, bless him, so at least I have something to do."

Francis' smile grew into a grin, a hint of laughter behind it. James was glad there could be laughter out here, even now. They weren't saved yet, but their chances were looking much better than they had.

Too soon, Francis' duties called him out of the tent again. James went back to his reading, feeling restless, but the restlessness made him hopeful. It was hard to believe he had the energy to be restless.

**Francis**

Francis was sitting alone in their tent, bundled up and reading, when the shouting started. He threw the book down as fast as he could and lunged for his rifle. Something was out there, he thought – the creature must have returned at last, here to finish what it had started. He couldn’t catch the words, there was too much noise, too much confusion as he dashed out of the tent and squinted in the sunlight.

“Where!” He shouted to the closest man. “Where is it?”

“Francis!” Thomas was lunging towards him, shouting. “Francis, they’re here!”

The mutineers, then. “How many?” Francis yelled back, running in his direction.

“It’s Sir James Ross. He’s come to find us. It’s our rescue.”

Francis stopped. His rifle hung limply at his side. He stared off across the camp and finally made sense of the shouts around him. They were excited, not fearful. Sure enough, there was a party of men gathered around three sleds, dogs waiting patiently behind; with new, pressed navy uniforms and clean faces free of the horrors that had followed them.

They had made it. They were going home.

Francis tossed his gun back in front of his tent. It didn’t matter anymore. He ran across the camp to the men, seeking out a head of rich red hair. James Ross was waiting for him. He embraced Francis, thumping him on the back, and when he pulled back he was grinning to the corners of his eyes. “I was starting to think I wouldn’t find you,” He said.

“You almost didn’t,” Francis replied. He knew that would be enough for Ross to understand. They’d have to debrief later, but for now it precluded further questions.

Instead Ross put a steadying hand on his arm. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you.”

***

The ship was a sight that nearly made Francis cry with joy. He did not want to walk another step on this horrible rock. A dinghy was waiting for them on shore as they approached, and the men inside waved them down with cheers for the survivors.

It would not take many trips with their number, yet Francis waited for the last. He was the captain still; he would not abandon the men even now. James stood at his side without a word, with knowing smiles at the men. There was no place now among them for celebration. He knew the thought of those who did not make it this far weighed heavily on all of them.

Finally he stepped into the dinghy. He felt the boat shift under his weight in the shallow water. There was no reason to pause, yet he did for half a moment, taking a breath to relish and regret leaving these shores. It did not feel like a victory. It felt like giving up.

When everyone was on board, they pushed off, leaving a few men with the last of the supplies for the next boat. The sensation of the water below him was foreign after so long, yet it still felt like coming home.

They walked onto a ship that was in tip-top shape, and every man looked healthy. Beside them his own men looked painfully thin and pale and sickly. He’d gotten used to the scars and hollowed cheeks, the changes slow enough not to notice until it was bad, but seeing them now in such sharp contrast to the others was shocking. They looked as though a strong gust of wind might blow them away.

He followed James and Ross to the captain’s quarters, listening with one ear as his men were assigned places. Now that they were one Ross’ ship they weren’t really his men anymore, he supposed, but he hadn’t yet ceased to think of them that way.

“I’ll have my doctors look at you first. You’ve been through a lot, and it shows,” Ross said. “Cabin space is limited, I’m sure you understand. I’ve given you one of the better cabins, but I’ve had to have them drag in an extra bunk. Will you be alright sharing?”

Despite everything, Francis had to stop himself from laughing. After everything they’d been through, after everything they were to each other – would that be _alright?_ Francis would have fought tooth and claw to be in James’ proximity if they’d been given anything otherwise. Restraining himself, he simply nodded. “We can make it work.”

Ross looked to James. Francis could see a similar thought going through James’ mind. He shrugged. “I understand the situation. It will do fine,” He said.

“It’s just outside, then. I’ll have Richards show you. Go see the doctor, and then get some rest.” Ross’ steward led them out.

A few hours later, after the worst of their wounds and illnesses had been tended to, and a hot, un-canned meal sitting heavy in their stomachs, Francis and James sat together in the cabin. They’d taken off their boots and coats and settled into James’ cot without speaking. Francis lay against the wall with all the pillows piled up behind him, James settled comfortably against his chest, sitting between his legs. James was finally warm. He wrapped both arms around him and rested his hands on James’ own.

Neither broke the silence, and neither felt any need nor desire to for a long time. For the first time in years there was nothing to do. They were serving their purpose by resting, by regaining their strength, and there was no conflict or survival or politicking or crew or journey to worry about. Ross would not have heard them if they had tried to help – would have insisted that they return to their cabin and sleep. So they sat together. With nothing to worry about Francis allowed himself the luxury of thinking about nothing. He simply breathed, and that was enough.

If he focused he could hear James breathing too, even feel his heartbeat under his fingers. It was finally steady and strong again, and no longer a fluttering trapped thing in his chest threatening to give out. With every breath Francis felt as though they might truly be alright, that he would not wake up tomorrow and find that this had all been some feverish fantasy. That so long as it kept on, he could believe that.

“What happens when we return home, Francis?” James suddenly whispered. The words started tumbling out of him in a rush, the worry palpable in his voice. “Do we go our separate ways? Pretend this never happened? Because I don’t want to lose your friendship, and I don’t know if I can be around you without… well… and I don’t know if you will want–”

“Hush.” Francis brought a hand to his shoulder and squeezed. His resolve in this moment was stronger than it had ever been. “I did not snatch you from the jaws of death in the arctic only to lose you to high society in London.”

James let out a shaky breath. “I know you feel that way now, but when we return – when we are actually there–”

“James. I will not abandon you now. Not after everything.” He ran a hand through James’ hair, the freshly shorn ends tickling his palm – he’d cut the ratty mess it had become in the hopes that it would grow back stronger. “Don’t worry yourself over such things. We are alive. That is all that matters.”

James relented, sinking back further against Francis’ chest. Even as he said the words Francis could not stop a gnawing anxiety from growing in his chest as well, but he would not trouble James over it. Despite whatever might meet them when they returned, he could not think of anything that he would let rob him of this.

Francis leaned over and turned out the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The barest glow of the aurora filtered in through the window. James scooted forward, and Francis rearranged them so they lay on the bed, one arm flung across James' middle. He tried to believe that they were really done, that they were really headed home. It felt impossible to fit into the picture of the world that he'd lived with for the past three years. This time had been different than the others. This part of the world had always been hard, but this time it had transformed him. He'd never thought himself capable of learning this part of himself, let alone that it would feel so good. As James had said, the bare rock and dire consequences had been the end of vanity, the end of any picture of himself he'd used to obscure the truth. The truth was that he felt safer in James' arms than anywhere else in the world.


	7. Chapter 7

**Francis**

The life was truly starting to return to their veins now. Francis watched James hungrily from the bed as he cursed and struggled with the lacings on his boots. The admiralty ball held to welcome them back had been a torture, but it was eased by the way James’ dress uniform clung to the lines of his body. He’d happily accepted James’ invitation back to his home for tea, but they’d skipped it entirely and nearly run to the bedroom when they’d come in.

The last few weeks had been an exercise in restraint. There had barely been time to see each other, and when they had it had always been in public, and they’d only been able to catch each other quickly and never linger. But tonight there was nowhere to go. Tonight he could have this again, really have it.

The battle with his laces won, James wandered back across the room. He unbuttoned his coat as he went and dropped it on the floor, leaving only his waistcoat. He knelt on the bed. “You know what I’ve just realized?” He said, crawling up towards Francis to kiss him.

“What’s that?” Francis reached out towards his hair, which was growing back fuller than he’d ever seen it.

“It’s not cold here.”

Francis blinked in confusion. “ No. What do you mean?”

“It’s warm enough to take these off,” He said, and slid his fingers under the edges of Francis’ shirt. “To take our time.”

Francis felt desire and panic rise in him. To see James bare, that he could want, but the reciprocal – he shivered despite himself. He did not know that James would like what he saw. He was not the golden boy of the admiralty. He was no sculpted adonis as James most certainly was.

He’d already taken off his shirt while Francis was lost in thought, and the sight brought him swiftly back to the moment. In all the time they’d spent together, he’d never seen so much of James in the full light like this, and it took his breath away. There was something about it that felt reverent, and something so exposed and open he could barely stand it. He reached out and laid his palm flat over James’ sternum, fingertips spread across his chest.

James seemed to sense his apprehension. He leaned down and popped open his topmost button, laying just his fingertips on Francis’ collarbones, and kissed the corner of his jaw. “I want to see you, Francis,” He whispered.

“Are you sure?” Francis asked. He meant it genuinely. He didn’t want to ruin any illusions James might have.

James pulled back in surprise. He searched Francis’ eyes for some explanation. “Of course I’m sure,” He said. “I want you. I want this. Just trust me,” He finished, almost pleading.

After a moment, Francis nodded. “Okay.”

That was all the permission James needed to tear open his shirt like a starving man, kissing at every exposed inch of skin. He worked his way from neck to navel and then lower, and Francis gasped as he mouthed at him through his clothes. Then James was grasping at his trousers and pulling them down, tossing them to the side of the bed.

Francis sat up, seized by a sudden impulse to get it over with, and pulled his shirt off the rest of the way. James was already working on his own trousers. In a moment they were both entirely bare, and Francis drank in the sight in front of him with amazement so intense he forgot his own shame.

James was beautiful. Every inch of him seemed carved to perfection, even the slight sagging skin around his hips where starvation had left its toll. With trembling hands Francis ran his fingers over his side until he came to his scars – the scars that had almost killed him. He traced their edge where they were still not quite healed. How he had hated these once, and the endless story they brought. He would listen to that story for hours now, if only to hear James speak.

He looked into James’ face and stopped in awe as he realized that his own expression was reflected there, that James was looking at him, touching him with the same amazement. But where his hands were tentative and scared James’ were steady, spread on either side of his chest and leaving fire in their wake. Francis gasped as they moved down to his waist.

He surged forward to kiss James, and James pushed him back down onto the bed and laid the length of his body against Francis without breaking the kiss. The slide of skin on skin was at once too much and exactly what he’d needed without knowing it, a deep warmth that seemed to spread instantly into bones that had been frozen for years.

“I want you inside me,” James breathed into his ear. When Francis didn’t reply he continued. “I’ve done it, and it’s good. Incredible. And I want that with you.”

Francis’ mouth went dry with need. He was so far into this now, he could not have refused James anything, and propriety was so far from his mind in this moment as the world seemed to shrink to this room, this bed, their bodies. He nodded. “Yes. Yes.”

James got up suddenly and he mourned the loss, reeling, as he crossed the room to dig something out of a drawer. He returned with a small vial of oil and dropped it on the bed next to them, settling back down over Francis’ hips. Francis bucked up into the contact involuntarily. He watched with half-lidded eyes as James poured some of the oil and reached behind himself. His face changed in an instant as his eyes fluttered shut with pleasure. Absurdly, for a moment Francis found himself jealous of James’ hand.

After what felt like forever James reached for Francis’ cock and lined himself up. He looked to Francis for a moment to be sure he still wanted this. Francis’ slack jaw was evidently confirmation enough, as he bit his lip and sank down with a moan.

“Oh, God, James,” Francis cried out. He screwed his eyes shut and focused on getting his breathing under control as James began to move, slowly, dragging against Francis’ cock exquisitely.

James seemed lost in concentration, eyes half shut and unfocused as he rested his hands on Francis’ chest and rocked carefully back and forth. Francis felt something building in his groin already and tried to hold back, wanting this to last. Watching James like this did things to him he couldn’t have imagined, but he wanted to play an active part.

Overcome by a wave of bravery, he pulled James against his chest and rolled them over, settling back between James’ legs. James made a startled noise but it quickly morphed into a groan as Francis moved into him in earnest. His eyes were open now, though they looked dazed, and that was all Francis wanted.

He sped up the pace and watched as James fell apart beneath him. Stretching up, he stole a kiss between breaths, the feeling of James’ lips soft against his own almost better than the rest of it. James keened at the change of angle, and grasped desperately at the bedsheets. He was close now, Francis could tell. His own climax wasn’t far behind. With a groan he redoubled his efforts.

“Fuck,” James gasped out. “Oh, Francis, that’s perfect.”

Francis reached between them and wrapped his hand around James’ cock. With just a few tugs he was spilling, and Francis chased his own release through James’ keening cries. With a moan he collapsed forward and clutched at James’ waist as he came, riding through the aftershocks.

Still panting, Francis rolled off of James and collapsed beside him. James turned over and held him close with an arm around his middle. “Christ, James,” Francis whispered, breathless.

He heard James laugh, and then he was as well, joy bubbling up uncontrollably from somewhere deep inside. “I was right, wasn’t I?” James said.

“Oh, you are insufferable.” Francis shifted and kissed James’ temple. “And interminably sticky,” He added in disgust.

James huffed in annoyance but bit back a retort, instead standing to retrieve a washcloth and, thankfully, quickly returning to the bed. He made short and sloppy work of cleaning them, which made Francis laugh again, and settled back in. “That’ll have to do for now,” He said.

“Hmm.” Drowsiness was quickly overtaking Francis. “I think I’m going to fall asleep, James.”

“Good,” James said. He reached down and pulled the blankets over them, then settled on his back next to Francis, head still tucked in by his shoulder. Francis hummed, content, and found his hand beneath the blankets.

***

James’ limbs were still tangled with his as he woke up to morning light filtering through the windows. It was warmer here under one blanket than under all the blankets he owned at home.

They lay there for a while longer. It was silent in the room except for James’ soft breath, and Francis listened to it and felt his body pooling into the cushions, unwilling and unable to move. There was nowhere to go, after all.

Finally, reluctantly, they moved. The world came rushing into Francis’ mind with the cold air under the blankets. As James left the bed to find the bathroom he felt an anxiety start to bloom. Without James here all his worries and questions came to the forefront of his mind. Despite his best efforts to fight it off, he began to feel ashamed.

He left the bed and dressed before James could return. If James was surprised, he made no mention of it, only retrieving his own clothing before following Francis out of the room.

In the front hallway he bid James goodbye with a quick kiss, but could not shake the discomfort that had settled in his stomach. He tried not to let it show, to not worry James. It was not James he was ashamed of, it was himself. He was jealous of James' easy confidence and wished he could follow his example, but in this moment, he couldn't bring himself to be brave. Instead he wondered who might be walking by outside, if someone would recognize him and wonder why he was leaving James' home so early in the morning. His thoughts began to swirl, with no sign of stopping, as he walked out into the cold morning air.

**James**

Francis' townhome wasn't far from his own. He'd been invited for dinner. He walked down the street, hands shoved in his pockets and collar pulled up against the cold rain. He'd thought that everything would feel warm when he returned, but this cold, wet chill was different than the biting horror that was a polar cold, and it was almost worse in its pernicious ability to creep down into your skin and bones.

James swallowed a mounting anxiety as he walked the mile and a half. He was happy to be seeing Francis again soon, but it didn't feel right to have to go somewhere to do so. It felt strange not to be by his side. Then there was the matter of his formality.

When they'd first returned Francis had kept his promise. Between celebrations and conversations with the Admiralty they'd stolen private moments, some in the safety of their homes and others pushing the boundaries of reason in dark corners and abandoned closets. But over time they'd slowed, and now they hadn't seen each other in a week, the last time at a formal dinner. A month before he'd come for tea and quiet conversation around the fire, and Francis had barely touched him once, carnally or otherwise. He hadn't felt rejected by Francis, not deliberately, only ignored, but he'd also not had the courage to bring it up since this pattern began. He intended to tonight.

He reached Francis' door and hesitated for a moment before knocking. It didn't take long for the door to open. Francis' maid nodded at him and let him into the front hall. "Captain Crozier is in the sitting room," She said, before leaving him to return to the kitchen.

He pulled off his hat and coat and walked the length of the hall. The sitting room windows overlooked the back garden. Francis was sitting on one end of the couch, running his fingers over the rim of a cup and staring into the fire. James came and sat on the other end, all too aware of the distance between them, and his inability to close it for fear of what the maid might see or what Francis might say – or not say.

"Ah, James. Glad you could make it in time." Francis smiled kindly at him. His eyes shone. James had no doubt he was happy to see him, but he did not know that that was enough.

"It's good to see you." James settled in and picked up the glass of whiskey that was clearly waiting for him.

They made idle small talk until it was time for dinner, and then struggled awkwardly through the meal. James wanted to blame the stifled atmosphere on appearances but couldn’t summon the energy to lie to himself. Francis was nearly unrecognizable, a strange picture of perfect formality that refused to even touch James’ knee under the table.

Finally the ordeal was over. Francis excused his maid and they retired back to the sitting room. James drew the curtains, shut the door, and came to sit down with Francis – this time next to him instead of so far away. He put a hand on Francis’ shoulder, hesitantly. “It’s good to finally get you alone,” he murmured, and held his breath as he waited for the reply.

Francis turned his head and smiled softly. “I missed you,” He said, but made no move towards him, only raising his own hand to James’.

James felt precarious, standing on the edge of some precipice he’d thought they’d crossed long ago. So long as he didn’t push things, he could pretend that he might not have lost Francis entirely. Yet he couldn’t stand one more moment without that answer. He needed to know. He leaned forward and made to kiss Francis, gently, tentatively, only on the corner of his lips. He wanted Francis to turn into it, waited for it, and instead he froze. After an intolerable moment, he turned away. James felt his heart drop like lead in his chest.

Francis looked down and shook his head. “Don’t,” He whispered.

“Don’t? Francis, Don’t what? What is happening here?”

“I can’t do this.” Francis put his head in his hands. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

James pulled his hand back as though burned. He tried to speak, but couldn’t find the words. He felt sick.

“Out on the ice was one thing, but here–” Francis’ voice was strained and cracking as he stared at the ground.

“You said you would not abandon me. You promised it.” James’ voice broke on the words and he swallowed down a growing panic. Fear and anger and a deep gnawing loss fought in his chest.

Francis did not respond. He stilled, frozen like a man left too long on watch. He ceased the wringing of his hands. His eyes unfocused, and he would not look at James, nor speak – even his breathing seemed to slow. The only signs of life were in the slightest clench of his jaw and furrowing of his brows. James could not stand it.

“Was that a lie? Was any of it real?” James felt the rage begin to win. “Francis, answer me.”

“I don’t know how– I can’t– I still love you, James,” Francis stuttered.

“But you do not _want_ me.” James stood.

Francis made a broken, choked noise, like a sob caught twisted in his throat. James couldn’t stand to be here for a moment longer. He could not collapse in front of Francis now. He would keep his dignity intact at least, he thought as he turned on his heel and walked through the door. Blinded by his sadness and rage, he could not have said if Francis made any move to stop him.

He took his coat and pushed out into the cold and damp still clutching it to his chest. He pulled it on as he walked away. He didn’t look back, couldn’t look back, he thought, without turning around. His thoughts swirled and refused to organize themselves into any kind of order. In that daze he made it to his front door, the path home from Francis’ second nature now, and stumbled inside.

Safe from the prying eyes of the world he sunk down with his back to the wall, kicked his boots off in frustration, and held his head in his hands. He did not cry. That felt too juvenile, and besides, he was not sad. Only broken.

He’d thought he’d finally solved it. Of all the many problems his life had given him, the one he resented most was wanting something he couldn’t have. Wanting someone steady, someone who loved him, and making that impossible by making him want a man. He’d found some solace in the basements of gentleman’s clubs and other places people like him dwelled, but it had never been enough. None of them were brave enough to commit to something so dangerous. But he’d solved it. He’d gotten it, Francis had said things to him he’d been waiting to hear his entire life. And now it was slipping away.

It would be back to where he’d been before, then. Back to just enough, and never enough. He should have known it was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream brought on by cold and lead and scurvy. There was a small part of him now that would take all of that back, if Francis came with it. He wanted, still he wanted, more than he could have ever believed, but there was nothing he could do to get it.

He sat there until his legs started to fall asleep, and then dragged himself to bed. He did not bother with anything other than his coat as he crawled beneath the covers and tried to shut his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Francis**

Francis stood in front of James’ door. He steadied himself, closing his eyes and pausing before knocking. But despite what might await him on the other side, he wanted to see James, more than anything. He knocked.

It took a worryingly long time for the door to open. Francis did not miss the shift in James’ face as he stopped and stood still, his gaze cold. He did not speak.

“May I,” Francis cleared his throat – his words would not come out right. “May I come in?”

For a long moment he worried James might turn him away, and then he moved, holding the door open behind him. Francis stepped inside. James let the door fall shut with a thud and left the front hall.

“Where are you going?” Francis called after him.

“To make tea,” Came the flat reply.

Francis pulled off his coat and boots slowly, feeling out of place. He had never felt this way at James’ house before, yet it was suddenly strange to simply walk inside and make himself at home. It would not last long, he reminded himself, going over the words he meant to say in his head again. He was going to fix it.

He waited in the small sitting room while James bustled about in the kitchen. James had brought in a new chair since he’d been here last. Francis picked at the seams of his own favorite chair and tried to keep his breathing steady. What he wanted to say still made him feel ever so slightly sick. He could not give up his past that easily.

After an eternity James arrived with a tray and set it gently on the table between his own chair and the couch, carefully as though unwilling to disturb the tension in the room with any noise. He sat on the near end of the couch poured a cup for himself, and pushed the kettle in Francis’ direction. James used to hand Francis his tea personally, pressing it into his hands and stealing a caress of fingers across his knuckles. He sighed, and poured his own cup.

“What did you come to say to me, Francis?” James asked.

Francis bit his lip. There was only one place to start, and maybe starting would make the rest of it easier. “I’m sorry.”

There was a flash of kindness in James’ eyes, but it was only there for a moment; he was still watching Francis with suspicion. “Is that all?”

“No, just,” Francis met James’ eyes fully for the first time since he’d come in. “Let me speak. Please. It will take some time.”

James nodded, and settled back a little into the couch. He wanted to skip this, to fall back into James’ arms and hope that everything would be ok, but he needed James to understand. They could not continue without it.

“Whatever you are, James, I am not that kind of man. Or at least I thought I wasn’t. Out there was one thing, but now that we are here – it is real, here. It has real consequences, here. And it is so much harder to allow.” Francis swallowed and looked away. “My feelings for you have not changed. Only the environment.”

“And are those feelings not enough?” The pain in James’ voice broke his heart.

Francis sighed and closed his eyes, crumpling. “James. I have been a daft old fool,” he whispered. “You have been this way your entire life. It may not have been comfortable, but you are used to it. But I am old, and this is entirely new to me. I wish it were otherwise, but... I am afraid,” he said, voice breaking.

There was a long moment of silence, and he couldn’t look at James. “Do you think I’m not?” James finally said. Francis looked up. “Francis, I have been terrified of this every day of my life, since I was old enough to know the truth of it. But I cannot change it. Neither can you. I spent long enough trying to know that much.”

“I just thought… I always thought I could keep it in my head. I never expected to follow that impulse, and I never expected to _want_ it so much.” James was smiling, Francis realized in a rush. It was small and sad, but it was there, and there was a seed of something hopeful in it. He realized suddenly how unsure he’d been that James could even understand. Francis stood and sat carefully on the couch next to James, took his hands between his. “James, when you left, you said I did not want you. I may be wary, and cautious, and have difficulty in this, but I want you to know that nothing could be further from the truth.”

James screwed his eyes shut and clutched at Francis’ fingers like a dying man. “But do you want this? Do you want it enough to know the danger and take it anyway?”

“I can’t promise I will be comfortable in it, or that I will never panic again. But yes, James. I want it. If you still want me.”

“I have never wanted anything more, Francis–”

Francis kissed him. James moaned softly in surprise and desperation and kissed back hard, pulling Francis’ face against his own with both hands. “God, I missed this,” Francis murmured against his lips. “I missed you–”

“Shh.” James climbed on top of him, settling in with his knees on either side of Francis’ thighs. “You’ve talked enough. Show me.”

Francis pulled back and met his eyes. He shivered at the vulnerability and desire he saw there. He reached out and started on James’ buttons, pulling out his cravat – he could not fathom why he would wear one here at home, but somehow it was all the more endearing.

He made short work of pulling off James' shirt, and shrugged out of his own jacket and waistcoat with the same urgency. Suddenly he felt at home again. How could he not? It had been that strangeness between them that made it otherwise, and James was the solution, not the problem. He could never be a problem.

James' fingers began to tangle with his belt buckle, and Francis reached out and stopped him. "Let's move to the bed, James."

"Why?" James growled, frustrated. "I want you now."

"I want you to fuck me," He whispered in James' ear, and pulled back to savor his expression as it went from shock to joy to pure desire.

Wordlessly, James stood and offered his hand to help Francis up. He didn't let go as he walked them to the bedroom. Even out here shirtless in the open air Francis finally felt as though he could see a future here where he didn't feel like crawling out of his skin if he thought too hard about it. This was his choice. He'd told James what he wanted, something he'd never thought he'd get, that the rest of the world would condemn, but oh, how he wanted it. So hang the world.

James hung on tight as he pushed open the door of the bedroom and came to sit on the edge of the bed. His fingers only slipped from Francis' to return again to his trousers and help him step out of them. It was only seconds before he joined Francis on the bed and settled between his thighs.

Francis leaned up to meet the offered kiss. James held himself on his elbows on either side of Francis' face. He moved a hand down to Francis' chest as he nipped gently at Francis' lower lip, then slid down his body to nose at the dip in his hips. He looked back up and met Francis's eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Please," Francis whined, shivering with anticipation at every touch. "By god, James, do you know what you do to me? You set me alight," He breathed.

James made a soft whine in the back of his throat and reached down between Francis' legs, touching him gently, tentatively. Francis threw his head back and bit his lip so hard he thought it might bleed. He didn't see James fiddling with the vial until his fingers returned slick and cold, and suddenly the sensation was doubled, deeper, softer. He whined in the back of his throat and dug his heels into the bed as James slowly worked him open.

Every moment was exquisite. James slid one finger inside to the knuckle, and reached out with his other hand for Francis' right, squeezing his fingers tight and grounding him as Francis cried out. Soon he was loose and open and James pulled away to come back up and kiss Francis, giving him a few moments rest.

"Okay?" He asked, looking into Francis' eyes. Francis nodded, desperate.

James smiled with a hint of mischief and excitement and arranged their bodies, pulling a pillow from the other side of the bed and sliding it under the small of Francis' back. Francis could scarcely pay attention to what he was doing with the way his body was thrumming with desire. James turned his head from where it was cast to the side with a hand on his cheek, brushed his thumb against the side of his lips, and shut his eyes as he thrust inside.

Francis stared, mouth open, as the expression of James' face changed. He moaned as he bottomed out, and Francis sat in shock at the new sensation, his thoughts scattered to the walls. His own eyes fluttered shut as James started to slowly rock back and forth, moving further with every thrust. They set a rhythm together until Francis was utterly undone, and then James shifted, and suddenly a whole new feeling rocked Francis' body like lightning up his spine. He cried out, and James leaned forward to silence him with his lips, his hips speeding up.

Francis kissed back hard and reached for the back of James' head, twisting his fingers in his hair. They broke for air but James stayed with their foreheads resting together. Francis was close, and he could tell James was nearly there by the way his breathing became ragged and uneven. A few more thrusts and he arched up and groaned, shaking. He reached down for Francis and kept going, working him over with his hand until Francis was clutching at his back and crying out as well.

James caught himself on his hands to keep from falling on top of Francis as they caught their breath. He slowly pulled out and lay down next to Francis. Francis reached out and pulled him against his chest, holding him there.

**James**

There was a look in Francis’ eyes that made James want to have him sit for a portrait, but he knew it could never be captured. It was a lightness, an open vulnerability that made his heart run ever so slightly quicker. After the torture of the past few weeks it was even sweeter. For the first time he really believed that Francis would stay.

“How do you feel?” He asked. He wanted to hear it in Francis’ own words, not because he needed to be soothed and reassured, not anymore, but only to hear it.

Francis laughed lightly. “Like I’ve just been fucked into oblivion?”

James grinned and kissed him, then rested his forehead on Francis’ cheek. “I mean about this. About us.”

Francis brushed his fingers over James’ shoulder, contemplative and slow. “I feel safe,” He said. “You were out there with me. You know how hard it is now to feel safe.”

“I know,” James whispered.

“Let’s go somewhere warm, hm? You and I. A bachelor’s holiday, if you will. Let them speculate about our conquests in exotic locales, and I’ll have you far from any prying eyes.”

"Yes. That sounds delightful." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Francis for just a moment, then pulled back to admire him again. He was beautiful like this, flushed and strong. James hoped he'd have all the time in the world to tell Francis as much, every day. So he spoke it aloud now. "You're beautiful."

Francis smiled and looked down, flushing even further. It set James' heart to fluttering. He felt warm and comfortable and home. In here the world could threaten them no more. They would keep each other close, and safe. And despite all it had given them, maybe they would be lucky enough to never see true ice again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @alitneroon!


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